


Hot and Bothered

by jaclynhyde



Category: Final Fantasy IV, Final Fantasy IV: The After Years
Genre: Clothing Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 19:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17793563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaclynhyde/pseuds/jaclynhyde
Summary: If you can't bring the Autarch of Flame to a blizzard, his cloak's the next best thing.





	Hot and Bothered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kandrona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kandrona/gifts).



> Happy Chocolate Box, kandrona! I had to write you a treat for requesting this amazing pairing. Thank you to my wonderful beta vanishinghitchhiker!

It was colder than it had been on the moon. The moon! At least the snow was nicer to look at than endless craters and whatever those weird abominations were. Still, Edge thought as he pressed closer to the fire, this sucked. He'd used up all his flame scrolls already, so there he was using two sticks like a rookie. Thankfully, his training covered situations like this. 

Of course, his training also recommended completing one's objective and then swiftly disappearing out of a situation like this. Instead, he was stuck alone, in a cave, in a blizzard. Setting his flood scrolls on fire so he didn’t freeze before the storm let up.

At least he’d picked up a nice accessory.

Fire roaring, Edge settled back against the wall and drew his cloak around him. Red as lava, blue splotches accenting its length, the cloak stood out more than a ninja probably should. Not that he’d ever been concerned about blending in. Still, the cloak… It was silly, really. Sometimes he’d wake up, spot it hung up by the door and feel a thrill of anticipation low in his gut. Like a fight was coming, like Rubicante was just waiting for him to join in. Edge may have won it, but it was still Rubicante’s cloak.

Anyway. It wasn’t like Rubicante was going to show up out of nowhere, and thinking of him was just making him miss the perpetual heat of the Fiend's presence.

Ducking his head, Edge huddled further into the cloak. The cold was bearable, but it certainly wasn’t  _ healing _ him. He really needed something to take his mind off it.

...too bad he was alone. There was one way he knew of to warm up.

Well…

Edge shifted under the cloak, hand splaying over his thigh. Not quite as warming, and not nearly as fun. But with the warmth of the fire, and the cloak—even the hypnotic flurries of the snow falling outside—

Okay, maybe it had been a long time. 

Whatever set him off, he could feel the familiar heat pooling in his belly. Hell, there were worse ways to pass the time. 

Slouching further against the wall, Edge let his legs fall open. As he stroked his thigh, ever so slowly moving closer to his crotch, the movement of his arm suddenly caught his eye. Forget the snow, what was really hypnotic was the pattern of the cloak playing over his arm, following his every movement as he touched himself—

For just a moment, he could almost feel the cloak  _ burning _ where it touched him.

"Ah—" Edge gripped his leg, hard, fingers searing his skin. And, suddenly, all he could think of was every time he'd seen the cloak in his room, every time he'd woken up and thought for a split second that Rubicante was there, watching him.

"...Rubicante?" he asked, and immediately felt like an idiot. Come on, he was dead twice over. He had better things to do than hang out in his old cloak and spy on him.

Even if he had shown up as some kind of ghost to warn him when he was in danger.

Even if it would be weirdly hot if he was there. No pun intended.

He pulled the cloak tighter around him, nuzzling his face against the fabric. He never could figure out what it was made of—magic, probably, maybe even whatever it was that made up the Autarch of Flame. 

His face was heating up, sparks of warmth dancing over his skin, and it sure wasn't all from his arousal.

"Rubicante," he said again, and when he felt a trail of heat like fingers over his neck he was definitely done feeling like an idiot. He was almost fully hard, now, and seeing the cloak falling over the bulge in his pants was just making him harder.

Hmm.

With a grin at—the campfire, why not—he sucked the cloth into his mouth. And suddenly there were rolling waves of heat, all over his body, over every inch the cloak touched, and Edge jerked with a shout. "Hey! Hey, that hurts—"

Which was  _ true, _ yeah, but more than that—

He moved his hand, finally, and palmed himself through the fabric of his pants. And he watched his hand moving, the flex of his arm, every motion amplified by the folds of the fabric. "Here for another fight? What makes you think you'll win this time, huh?"

There were stripes of burning over his hand, over each of his fingers. It was as if fire itself was touching him, pushing down on his fingers, urging him to grasp himself more firmly.     

Edge shuddered, mouth dry with the heat. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. Wish you were here, Rubicante? How would you fight me this time?"

And suddenly, the heat disappeared.

"Wh—" Edge nipped at the fabric next to his mouth. "Come on, not like  _ that!" _

The heat reappeared—but only a trace of it, a trace like fingers trailing over his thigh, over the hand covering his cock. Then, with a surge of heat that felt like a tap, it disappeared.

Oh. Oh, fuck, that was hot.

"Could've just said so," he muttered, voice hoarse. And then he tugged his pants down, just enough that the cloak could fall against the bare skin of his cock— 

A flare of heat, of  _ burning _ , shuddered over his skin. "Fuck—!" His hips jerked upwards of their own accord, but there wasn't enough pressure, just the light press of the cloak and that searing, maddening  _ heat. _ "Been—been a while for you too, huh?"

The heat was almost unbearable, now, but more than that, he was going to explode if he didn't touch himself right now. So he did—grabbing hold of his cock through the fabric, savoring the shockwaves of heat pulsing under his hand, over his cock. It didn't feel like fabric, anymore, as he roughly stroked himself. "Rubicante." He gasped for breath, hand speeding up until the friction itself could burn. "This what it feels like to touch you?"

And then the invisible flames engulfed him, body burning as hot as he could bear while even hotter flares rippled over his face, his chest, his cock. The cloak—the cloak felt impossibly slick against him, the satiny heat feeling more like a hot mouth around him—

Oh yeah. This is what it feels like.

And there was no way he was making this last, not with the fires licking all over him with so much fervor—almost desperation—   

With a shout, Edge came, thrusting wildly into his hand, into the cloak. And as the white-hot heat surged over his body, he wondered if Rubicante had a body somewhere, wondered what it was he looked like right now.

Letting his head fall back, Edge shifted under the cloak. Which...didn't feel wet, at all, and he was pretty damn sure he'd come as much as ever into it. Convenient. "So what'd you do with that?" he muttered. No response. 

Smile forming on his lips, Edge sagged against the wall. "See you later," he said. And there was that quiet flutter of flame again, against his arm, against his lips.

With a contented sigh, Edge smoothed out the cloak and waited for his pulse to stop thrumming in his ears. He'd warmed up, all right.

And he’s pretty sure he won.


End file.
